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Pesach Perspectives: Experiencing Emancipation: Momentary Freedom and Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah

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The Pesach Seder brings with it a plethora of spiritual opportunities. We drink the Four Cups, consume matzah and maror, ask the four questions and, of course, enjoy a celebratory meal. But the true essence of this sacred night is to retell and re-experience the Exodus from Egypt. “Chayav Adam Lir’Os Es Atzmo K’Ilu Hu Yatzah Mi’Mitzrayim (A Person is obligated to view himself as if he left Egypt).” The rabbis explain that we each have our “Egypt”; we each have those circumstances which keep us shackled and enslaved. Through remembering our redemption from Egyptian servitude, we can experience emancipation from our personal servitude. By retelling and reliving the past, we can bring that redemptive energy to our present circumstances. This is a concept we have learned and discussed extensively, yet find difficult to actualize. We have celebrated many a Pesach Seder, we have fulfilled the obligations, yet don’t feel unburdened or emancipated when it is over. We execute the details, but have yet to feel the redemptive energy of this holiday. How do we maximize the Seder experience and allow ourselves to experience this personal freedom?

Amazingly, the answer is found in the Haggadah:

Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah said: “I am like a man of seventy years old, yet I did not succeed in proving that the exodus from Egypt must be mentioned at night-until Ben Zoma explained it: “It is said, `That you may remember the day you left Egypt all the days of your life;’ now `the days of your life’ refers to the days, [and the additional word] `all’ indicates the inclusion of the nights!”

The commentaries are bothered by the inclusion of this section in the Haggadah. The great sage Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah is not referring to the night of Pesach, he is referring to the nights throughout the year. There are two distinct obligations which relate to remembering the Exodus. Each and every day we have the mitzvah of “Zechira”, remembering the Exodus. This can be fulfilled by simply mentioning that God took us out of Egypt (we fulfill this obligation through the recitation of the third paragraph of Shema). On the night of Pesach, the mitzvah is “Sippur” an in-depth retelling and recounting of the entire Exodus narrative (we fulfill this through the Haggadah). Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah is discussing the obligation of “Zechira”. As such, why is this discussion included in the Haggadah?

Although there are many answers, I would like to share with you one that relates not to the content of Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah’s words but rather to his personality. The Talmud (Berachos 27b) relates the story of the search for a new head for the rabbinical academy in Israel. There was a short list of distinguished personalities for this important position, but the list was ultimately narrowed down to one man, Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah. The delegation approached the great sage and asked if he would become the Rosh Yeshiva (head of the academy).

They went and said to him: “Will your honor consent to become head of the academy?” He

replied: “I will go and consult the members of my family”. He went and consulted his wife. She said to him: “Perhaps they will depose you later-on (Rabban Gamliel, the previous head was removed from the position)”. He replied to her: [There is a proverb:] “Let a man use a cup of honor (expensive crystal glass) for one day even if it be broken the next”.

Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah’s wife understood that in Jewish communal service it is a good idea to look at how the community treated your predecessor before accepting a position. Rabban Gamliel, the previous Rosh Yeshiva, was older and more highly regarded than Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah. Yet, Rabban Gamlilel fell out of favor with his rabbinic colleagues and was fired (the background to this espoide is beyond the purview of this essay). Rabbi Eleazar’s wife felt the risk for her husband was too great. To which Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah responded, “I am not blind to the potential risks. I am not ignoring the reality that perhaps those who respect me today may turn on me tomorrow. But there is an opportunity right in front of me now; there is promise and possibility at my doorstep. How can I not take advantage? My dear wife, better to use the beautiful goblet today and see it break tomorrow then to never use the goblet at all.”

In the words of the English poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson, “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” All opportunities come with risk. In fact the greater the opportunity, the greater the

risk and possibility of failure and defeat. If one only takes advantage of the opportunities for which he is guaranteed success, he will accomplish very little.

We must see the beauty in every opportunity, seize it with full force and commitment and try to the best of our ability to succeed. And if we fail,  weknow that we have grown from this opportunity, learned from this experience, are enriched as a result and better prepared to tackle future life initiatives.

The greatness of Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah was his willingness to engage life without the being assured of success. Perhaps, this is why this section is included in the Haggadah. Freedom doesn’t come with a guarantee of success. Freedom only guarantees our ability to try. Sometimes we try and succeed and sometimes we fail miserably. All too often we are scared to try if we can’t be guaranteed success. Deep down, we fear failure. For some it is a result of past failures, for others it may be a lack of self-confidence. We lose out on so many life opportunities because we are simply too scared to start. And we come to the Seder with an opportunity to become free; to free ourselves of the things which are holding us back, to free ourselves from the very things which shackle us to mediocrity and underperformance. As we are about to free ourselves of our burdens, we think, ”how long will this last? I can let go of my pain, frustration and animosity for a couple of hours. I can let go of the grudges and shattered dreams for a night, but it will all come rushing back tomorrow? What’s the point of allowing myself to feel freedom if I can’t perpetuate it?” And it is in that very moment that we hear the voice of Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah, “better to use the beautiful goblet today and see it break tomorrow then to never used the goblet at all.” Better to experience even just a few hours of freedom than none at all.

In one week from now, we will IYH sit at our Seder and we will strive to feel free. We are going to do whatever we can to leave our personal Egypt. For a few hours, we are going to find a way to extricate ourselves from the shackles and bondage which keep us tethered to compromised life circumstances. We know that we may not be able to free ourselves forever, but if we can drink from the goblet of freedom for a few hours, if we can feel that freedom coursing through our veins, we know that we will strive to be free again. Even if the next morning we may be right back where we started, once one drinks from the chalice of freedom, he will yearn, pine and desire for more. We often think that our goal is to succeed: we forget that our obligation is to try. Allow yourself to feel free for a few hours, let go of whatever is holding you back and experience emancipation. Tomorrow will be dealt with tomorrow. Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaryah and the Pesach seder teach us to maximize the moment in front of us now.

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Parsha Perspectives: Tazriah-Confronting the Kohen

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In this week’s Parsha we learn of the laws of the Tzaraas, loosely translated as leprosy, though in fact the Talmud explains that this was no ordinary physical ailment. Tzaraas was the physical manifestation of spiritual sickness. Specifically, if one spoke Lashon Hara (slanderous or negative speech) about another, he or she would be stricken by this disease. We are told in great detail about the process for declaring someone a Metzorah as well the multi-step purification process. While there are many intricate details involved with this process, one thing is clear. It is only a Kohen who could make the final determination as to whether a particular discoloration was in fact Tzaraas. Someone could study the laws of Tzaraas for years, but only a Kohen could utter the words Tamei(impure) or Tahor (pure). It is this Kohanic utterance that determines the ritual status of the individual.

But why the Kohen? Why is he vested with this ultimate authority? The person who contracted Tzaraas spoke negatively about another (as mentioned above) and in doing so had driven a wedge, created a chasm and orchestrated a divide within Klal Yisroel. Who can repair this damage? It is only a Kohen, a descendant of Aharon whose entire being was dedicated to creating peace, harmony, love and respect within the ranks of the Jewish people who could heal this stricken individual. The Metzorah must come face to face with a man who is the very antithesis of what the Metzorah represents. The Metzorahdivides, the Kohen bridges. The Metzorah sows the seeds of animosity, the Kohen nurtures the sapling of love. The Metzorah sees the worst in everyone, the Kohen sees the beauty in every soul. It is only the Kohen who can repair that which the Metzorah has destroyed.

The laws of Tzaraas may not be currently applicable but the message certainly is. We must make sure the Kohen triumphs over the Metzorah. We must do what we can to prevent animosity, slander and negativity within the ranks of our people. We must foster an atmosphere of achdus (unity).

We speak often about unity. Throughout the ages, rabbis, sages and scholars have all written on the need to avoid conflict and create national cohesion. The Talmud warns us repeatedly regarding the dangers of being a divided people. It sounds so simple, yet it often feels so elusive. Where do we start? What is the first step in achieving this lofty goal of Jewish unity? There is an incredible passage in the Zohar (Shmini, 36a):

Rabbi Pinchos ben Yair was once travelling and his donkey began to bray happily. Rabbi Pinchos said, “If my donkey is braying happily it must be that another Jew is on the road approaching us. As he rounded the side of the mountain he met Rabbi Elazar. Rabbi Pinchos said, “I now know why my donkey was so joyous!” Rabbi Elazar embraced and kissed Rabbi Pinchos. Rabbi Pinchos said, “If we are travelling in the same direction, let’s travel together.” To which Rabbi Elazar responded, “Once I have found you, I will travel in whichever direction you are headed.”

The Zohar then goes on to discuss the various topics they pondered as they were journeying together. What is so striking about this story is the donkey. Rabbi Pinchos ben Yair had a donkey which brayed happily at the presence of another Jew. This is because Rabbi Pinchos ben Yair was one who greeted every person with a smile and warm countenance. When you greet someone with a smile you convey to them a sense of importance and meaning. A simple smile allows a person to feel recognized. So many people walk through this world thinking they are unimportant or extra. So many people feel the world doesn’t need them and no one would care or notice if they were no longer here. When you smile at someone you are making the statement, “You are important. Important enough that I am going to take the few extra moments, flex my facial muscles and extend a greeting to you. I see you, I recognize you, we are part of the same nation. Even if I don’t know you, deep down, I do.” And when you do this enough you begin to change the world around you. The feelings of friendship, warmth, companionship and love for the other are felt not only by the recipient; they permeate those around you and change the emotional climate. When you take the time to smile and acknowledge the other it even impacts your donkey.

The road to achdus, national unity is a long and circuitous one. We must find our inner Kohen and our external smile; and when we do, we can change the world.

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Parsha Perspectives: Shmini-Genuine Joy

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In the aftermath of the tragic deaths of Nadav and Avihu, God appeared to Aharon, the bereaved father and instructed him:

“And the Lord spoke to Aharon saying, ‘Do not drink wine that will lead to intoxication, neither you nor your sons with you, when you go into the Tent of Meeting, so that you shall not die. [This is] an eternal statute for your generations.’” (Vayikra 10:8-9)

The Kohanim (priests) may not drink wine either before or when performing the Temple service. On a most basic level this was to ensure the sanctity and appropriateness of Kohanic behavior. In addition, the Kohanim were often consulted on matters of Jewish law and therefore, had to possess the clarity of mind to rule on complex issues. But why was Aharon given these instructions now? This could have been communicated at the beginning of the Mishkan’s inauguration. Yet, God chose to communicate this to Aharon in the aftermath of the loss of his sons. Why?

The commentaries offer many different approaches. I would like to share with you an incredible insight by the Ben Ish Chai (Chacham Yosef Chaim, Chief Rabbi of Baghdad, 1835-1909).

“… For the Temple and wine are two opposites. The Temple itself has the ability to fill the heart of a person with incredible joy … however, wine was created to comfort mourners or those who have suffered misfortune, as the verse states, ‘give wine to the embittered soul.’ Therefore, when one comes to the Temple which is the source of all joy, why would he need to drink wine?”

Wine was created to dull pain, to take the edge off difficult situations (when used in moderation). The Talmud explains that upon returning from burying a loved one, mourners were given a “cup of consolation,” a large glass of wine. God created something that can help remove some of the searing pain of life’s challenges. But this is not true joy. This is a masking or a dulling of the pain. At times, this is necessary as one is not yet ready to confront and tackle his broken heart. True joy comes from the Temple. True joy comes from connection with God. Happiness comes from within. The Kohen cannot drink wine when he comes to the Temple, because God wants the Kohen’s joy to come from his service and connection and not from an intoxicating beverage. God wants the Kohen to experience true and complete joy and not a contrived state of happiness resulting from masking life challenges. God wants the Kohen to feel simcha, not simply the absence of tzaar (pain).

God was speaking to a bereaved father. Aharon’s world had imploded as he had just experienced the loss of his beloved sons. God tells Aharon, “I know that life will never be the same for you. I know that although you have accepted My will and decree, your heart is shattered in a million pieces. But you can find a way to reclaim some measure of happiness through a life of sacred service and connection to the Divine. Don’t seek out happiness through dulling your pain, find joy in a life of meaningful, dynamic service.”

Wine has its place. There is no Jewish life-cycle event which doesn’t include wine. In just a few weeks we will demonstrate our freedom by drinking 4 cups of wine at the Seder. Wine can help you feel happy – but it can’t make you happy. True happiness comes from within. True happiness is the result of living a meaningful life filled with connection to God and the Jewish people. Real simcha is the result of knowing that we are each making a difference and our livesare purposeful. Genuine joy comes from knowing that we are striving to become the best version of ourselves.  The wine can help at times, but true joy can only be found in the Temple.

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Parsha Perspectives: Tzav-Celebrating the Daily Miracle

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“And the flesh of his thanksgiving peace offering shall be eaten on the day it is offered up; he shall not leave any of it over until morning.” (Vayikra 7:15)

Among the various sacrificial details contained in this week’s Parsha, the Torah teaches us the laws of the Korban Todah, the thanksgiving offering. This offering was brought when a person was saved from a life-threatening or inherently dangerous situation. It was a sacrificial rite which enabled the individual to thank God for deliverance and salvation.

The Imrei Emes (Rav Avraham Mordechai Alter of Gur, 1866-1948) raises a fascinating question.  Every korban (sacrificial offering) has a consumption window. One was permitted to eat the sacrifice for a certain amount of time. After that permitted time had elapsed, the korban becamenossar (left over) and prohibited. Most of the sacrificial offerings were consumed for two days and one night. Yet, the Korban Todah was only consumed for one day. This is especially intriguing given the fact the Todah was a very large offering comprised of multiple loaves. Why did the Torah mandate a shorter time for consumption?

The Rebbe provides a beautiful insight:

“Korban Todah, mi’viin oso al ha’nes, v’harey b’chol yom va’yom misrachashin itanu nissim chadoshim.  V’eych yochlu mi’nes shel emesh al neys shel ha’yom. (The thanksgiving offering is brought for a miracle -which God has performed for the individual-.  Each and every day God performs new miracles for us. How can we eat and celebrate yesterday’s miracle, when we have to celebrate today’s miracle)?”

We experience miracles every day. Sometimes, they are supernatural but more often they are embedded in the ordinary and mundane circumstances of daily life. Our job is to discern the miraculous events which unfold around us. We can only eat of the Korban Todah for one day (the day on which it is offered), for tomorrow we must not focus on the miracles of yesterday, but devote ourselves to seeing and appreciating the miracles of today.

We stand at a miraculous crossroads. We just finished celebrating Purim and we must now begin to prepare for the Yom Tov of Pesach. Purim is the Yom Tov of “ordinary miracles” cloaked in everyday circumstances. Pesach is a celebration of the supernatural prowess of God. During this season of miracles, we must focus ourselves on seeing the daily miracles which unfold around us.We should each say, “Today, I opened my eyes, I flexed my fingers, I stood on my own two feet. I can speak, I am able to think, and I am able to take care of my bodily needs. I have a warm coat, shoes without holes and a full stomach. There is some money in my wallet and parents who love me. There is a roof over my head and clothing in my closet.”

Are these events any less miraculous than the fall of Haman or the splitting of the sea?  In truth, we should each have to bring a Korban Todah every day, to thank God for the incredible miracles He has bestowed upon us. Every day generates its own distinct Todah obligation. We have the obligation to actively look for my daily miracles. We must carve out time to contemplate the incredible blessings and events which unfold around us every day.

We don’t yet have the opportunity to bring an actual Korban (sacrifice), so we must do the next best thing; offer our thanks with our words.  Take the time to say, “thank you Hashem, for all of the miracles. I know that I often focus on what I lack and what is deficient and broken. But I want You to know, if I could, I would bring you a Korban Todah every day. That day will come, but until then I give you one simple word, Todah; thank for the miracles of my past, thank You for the miracles of my present and I thank You in advance for the miracles which have yet to unfold.”

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Parsha Perspectives: Vayikra-Finding Forgiveness

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Alexander Pope wrote, “To err is human; to forgive, divine.” From the moment we are first introduced to Adam in the beginning of Genesis it is clear that man is prone to falling and failing. In this week’s Parsha, the Torah begins the lengthy section detailing sacrificial law. There are offerings brought for thanksgiving and celebration and there are offerings brought for atonement in the aftermath of sin. There are sacrifices for the mistakes of the common man and there are special sacrificial rites for the sins of the leader.

“If a leader [of Israel] sins and unintentionally commits one of all the commandments of the Lord, which may not be committed, incurring guilt; if his sin that he has committed is made known to him, then he shall bring his offering: an unblemished male goat.” (Vayikra 4:22)

In this verse the Torah describes the events that occur if the Nasi, the leader of the Jewish people, inadvertently issues an erroneous halachik ruling (permitting that which is prohibited) and acts upon his own ruling (thereby committing a sin). The verses describe the special sacrificial service to atone for his transgression.

The verse begins with the Hebrew word “Asher,” translated as “if.” In a bit of a play on words, the Talmud (Horiyos 10b) explains: “Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai said: Praiseworthy (Ashrei) is the generation whose leader brings a sin-offering for his inadvertent transgression.”

 

Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai teaches us that it can be difficult for one in a leadership position to admit he has done something wrong. The leader may be concerned about his image, about his ability to “lead” in the aftermath of an admission of guilt. And so, praiseworthy is the leader who can admit his faults, seek atonement and attempt to restore his spiritual standing.

But shouldn’t the Talmud have reserved its praise for the leader who has not sinned at all? Shouldn’t Rabbi Yochanan save his “Ashrei” accolade for the leader who does not suffer a spiritual lapse? Such a leader can serve as incredible role model for his constituents and followers. If our leader can remain above temptation, if our leader can avoid the spiritual and physical pitfalls of life, we can as well. Why not laud the Nasi who never suffered the set-back rather than the praising the one who did?

Rav Menachem Dovid of Amshinov (1850-1918) explains that in fact the reverse is true. A leader who has not suffered personal failure will be unable to forgive the shortcomings of another. A leader who has never tasted the bitterness of personal defeat will not appreciate the struggles of those he must lead. The leader who always succeeds will look at those who do not with a sense of disdain and resentment. Therefore, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai says, “Praiseworthy is the generation whose leader has stumbled, for this is a leader who will understand, appreciate and empathize with the difficulties his flock must face.”

The words of the Amshinover resonate with incredible personal relevance. We all stumble, fall and suffer set-backs along the journey of life. Each of us (in our own unique way) has tasted the bitterness of defeat and has felt the pain of self-doubt. These experiences must sensitize and allow us to be accepting of the faults and shortcomings of the other. It is precisely because we know how frail we are that we must accept the frailties of those around us. In the aftermath of personal failure, we must learn to forgive ourselves in order to get up, move forward and make up lost ground. When we see the failures of others, we must forgive, understand and aid them in getting back up. It is because we know how much we yearn to be forgiven for our transgressions that we must be quick to dispense forgiveness to those who wrong us.

“Praiseworthy is the generation whose members recognize their own failures and are able to forgive and accept the shortcomings of others.”

 

 

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Parsha Perspectives: Pikudei-Chasing the Clouds

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 “He set up the courtyard all around the Mishkan and the altar, and he put up the screen at the entrance to the courtyard; and Moses completed the work.”(Exodus 40:33)

Over the last number of Parshios we have read of the collection and subsequent creation of the Mishkan. God asked for an earthly abode, a place where His beloved children could come to connect. And now, in this week’s Parsha, the last section of the book of Shemos, the work was complete. The Mishkan was brought to Moshe, the Divine Presence descended upon it and the relationship between God and His nation was further cemented. Yet, the Torah adds a seemingly extraneous piece of information.

“When the cloud rose up from over the Mishkan, the Children of Israel set out in all their journeys.” (Exodus 40:36).

Over the course of the next three verses the Torah discusses Mishkan movement. Specifically, when the cloud of God would ascend, it signaled a need to break camp and journey forward. But why is this mentioned here? This belongs in the book of Bamidbar which details our various journeys in the desert. Yet, this is the last piece of information closing out the book of Shemos. What is the deeper meaning?

The Lubavitcher Rebbe (Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, 1902-1994) provides an incredible insight. The purpose of the Mishkan was to create a home for God within our midst. Although, we believe that God is everywhere, as physical beings it is helpful for us to have an address, a place where we can dedicate ourselves to connection and elevation. The Mishkan was the place where God allowed His Presence to be more acutely felt. The cloud which hovered over theMishkan was a manifestation of God. When one saw the cloud, he understood that Hashem was dwelling within our midst; he felt God next to him. There are times in life when we feel close to God and there are times when we feel distant. What is the approach of the Jew when he feels disconnected and distant? What should we do when we don’t feel inspired and holy? We must find the strength to seek out our Father.  We must find the courage to run after the cloud when we are no longer enveloped by it.

This is the message of the verse.

U’Vheyalos He’Anan Mey’Al HaMishkan, (When the cloud rose up from over the Mishkan) – There are times when the cloud of inspiration seems far away. At times, we don’t feel connected to God.  The cloud of holiness seems to leave our inner Mishkan.

What is our approach in these moments of disconnect?

Yis’u Bnai Yisroel B’Chol Maaseyhem, (the children of Israel set out in all their journeys) – we move forward trying to catch up to the cloud. Sometimes, the cloud is distant but attainable if we are willing to journey towards it. Spiritual inspiration doesn’t show up at our doorsteps. More often, it is hovering, waiting for us, beckoning to us from a distance. We must travel to it, seek it out, find it and claim it. If we truly want to be enveloped by the cloud of godliness, we must be ready to travel for it.

And now we understand. The entire purposes of the Mishkan was to create a space for God within our community and daily lives. Yet at the end of this incredible endeavor we are taught that no matter how much we want to keep the cloud near us, at some point it travels forward. It is then that the true nature of our spiritual mettle comes through. We all love holiness, inspiration and closeness to God but are we willing to push ourselves, to travel and venture out to acquire them?  Meaningful and lasting personal holiness is never acquired with ease. It requires effort, exertion and willingness to chase after the cloud.

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Parsha Perspectives: Vayakhel-Dig Deep

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No detail is left out, nothing is left to the imagination, the intricacies of the Mishkan are explicit in the text. But why? Why spend so much time describing a structure that was to serve the spiritual needs of our people for a relatively short amount of time? The Mishkan accompanied us in the desert and was to be replaced by the Beis HaMikdash (Temple). Why does the text devote so much time to every last detail? Why must we know about each and every cubit? Why must we know the final collection amounts of gold, silver and jewels? God is exceptionally measured in what He decides to include in His sacred text. What are we to learn from the inclusion and repetition of the Mishkan details?

When describing the craftsmen who would work with the precious metals, stones and fine fabrics the Torah states, “Every man whose heart uplifted him came, and everyone whose spirit inspired him to, generosity brought the offering of the Lord for the work of the Tent of Meeting, for all its service, and for the holy garments.” (Exodus 35:21) What is the meaning of this phrase “N’sao Libo, whose heart uplifted him”?

The Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, 1194-1270) writes: “There was no one among them (the people) who learned these skills from a teacher. They received no formal training. Rather, they found within themselves the ability to perform these tasks and they came before Moshe and said, ‘We will do whatever the master requires’.”

The creation of the Mishkan and fabrication of the utensils required great skill.  An individual would have had to fully devote himself for years; apprenticing with a master teacher to learn proper techniques. The Ramban explains that our ancestors did not possess any of the requisite skills to build the Mishkan. For two-hundred and ten years they were slave laborers and beasts of burden. They never apprenticed nor were they trained to perform these specialized tasks. But when the call came, they answered it. When Moshe said he needed people to build the Mishkan, these “craftsmen” stepped forward. What training did they have? None. What skills did they bring to the table? None. But deep down they felt they could do it. They felt that if they reached inward they would find the necessary abilities to accomplish the required tasks. This is the meaning of “N’sao Libo, (whose heart uplifted him)” – their hearts lifted them above their current realities and allowed them to believe they could do and be more.

Perhaps, this is why the Torah goes into such great detail regarding the Mishkan. When we see the intricacies and details associated with this temporary structure we are amazed. When we try to imagine a huge block of gold being hewn into an Aron (Ark of the Covenant) or Kohanic vestments where each thread was made of twenty-four smaller threads, we are overwhelmed by the talent required to produce such magnificent results. Only a team of experienced artisans could have undertaken such a task. Yet we know that this Mishkan was produced by our ancestors, men and women forged in the pit of Egyptian slavery. Men and women who knew they had to answer the call when they were needed. Men and women who believed they could be more. When Moshe needed their help, they stepped forward and believed that someway, somehow, they would rise to the occasion and meet the challenge.

There are times when we find ourselves in circumstances which seem daunting and overwhelming. We feel that we are in over our head and we stand ready to throw our hands up and admit defeat. Sometimes, God places us in challenging circumstances because He wants us to step forward, dig deep and find the tools, abilities and talents that, until now, have remained unknown and dormant. Those very circumstances, which we often find difficult and challenging, are often the very circumstances which allow us to understand ourselves and our true God-given abilities. If we find ourselves in the midst of a particular challenge, not only do we have the ability to meet it, but there is something precious and beautiful we will discover and learn about ourselves.  We each must find the strength to be an Ish Asher N’Sao Libo; we must believe in ourselves, believe in our abilities and answer the call of life.

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Parsha Perspectives: Ki Tisa-Remember the Good Times

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No matter how many times we read it, it is still difficult to comprehend. On the heels of the most dramatic, inspirational and transformative experience, we hit rock bottom. We panicked. We thought Moshe died on the top of Mount Sinai leaving us leaderless and alone. What would we do? Where would we go? How can we move forward without Moshe at our helm? A plan was devised.

Aaron said to them, “Remove the golden earrings that are on the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters and bring them [those earrings] to me.” And all the people stripped themselves of the golden earrings that were on their ears and brought them to Aaron. He took [them] from their hand[s], fashioned it with an engraving tool, and made it into a molten calf, upon which they said: “These are your gods, O Israel, who have brought you up from the land of Egypt!” When Aaron saw [this], he built an altar in front of it, and Aaron proclaimed and said: “Tomorrow shall be a festival to the Lord.” On the next day they arose early, offered up burnt offerings, and brought peace offerings, and the people sat down to eat and to drink, and they got up to make merry.” (Exodus 32:3-6)

Aharon needed to buy time, he knew Moshe would return. Never did he imagine the people would part with their wealth so quickly. Never did he imagine that the Golden Calf would turn into a deity and form of idolatry, sparking the worst national rebellion against God in the history of our people. Moshe was ordered to descend the mountain, and upon seeing the decadent behavior of the people smashes theluchos (tablets). God tells Moshe of his intention to destroy the Jewish nation and begin to rebuild through Moshe. Moshe responds:

“Why, O Lord, should Your anger be kindled against Your people whom You have brought up from the land of Egypt with great power and with a strong hand?.” (Exodus 32:11)

What does this mean? How could Moshe ask why God was angry? The Rabbis in the Talmud compare the sin of the Golden Calf to a bride who commits adultery underneath her bridal canopy. Sinaitic revelation represented the pinnacle of Divine closeness and spiritual intimacy and yet amid this special moment, we turned our attention to a Golden Calf. God’s wrath and displeasure are warranted and understood. Yet, Moshe asks, “Why should Your anger be kindled against Your people?” How are we to understand Moshe’s question to God?

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810) provides an incredible insight. Moshe was urging God to look at the people in their totality. Don’t only see the sin of the Golden Calf, remember their good and holiness as well. Remember, these are the same people, “Your people whom You have brought up from the Land of Egypt.” They are the same people who followed You out into the desert, the great unknown. They barely knew You, yet embraced You as the God of their forefathers. Don’t solely view them through the lens of their failure, see their successes, accomplishments and commitment as well.

The Rebbe teaches us an incredible lesson. When people fail and hurt us we only see them through the lens of the current failure, often ignoring all the good which came before. When those who we love and cherish fail us, there are often feelings of hurt and betrayal. Before we discard or unravel the relationship, we must take a moment to reflect on the good and moments of commitment our relationship partners have exhibited. God’s ability to view us in totality saved our relationship, may we find the courage to do the same for one another.

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Parsha Perspectives: Titzaveh-Lighting the Fire

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“V’Ata Titzaveh es Bnai Yisroel, V’Yikchu Elecha Shemen Zayis Zach Kasis La’Maor L’Haalos Ner Tamid ….

You shall command the Children of Israel and have them bring you clear olive oil, [made from olives that were] crushed for lighting, to keep the lamp burning constantly. In the Tent of Meeting, outside the curtain, which is before the Testimony, Aharon and his sons shall arrange it [for the lamp to burn] from evening to morning before God. This is an everlasting statute for their generations of the Children of Israel.” (Exodus 27:20-21)

God commands Moshe to issue the call for pure, virgin olive oil to be used for the daily kindling of the Menorah. But why here? Moshe had already asked the people (in last week’s Parsha) to contribute the various materials necessary for the construction, fabrication and maintenance of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). Furthermore, why is the discussion about the oil inserted between the construction of the Mishkan and its utensils and the appointment of Aharon and his sons?

Rabbi Moshe Alshech (born in Turkey in 1507, and died 1593 in Tzefat, Israel) explains that Moshe was distressed. Moshe had seen the incredible generosity of the people. He asked them to contribute precious metals, fine fabric and jewels and they did so with a complete heart and a generous spirit. In fact, that they were so generous that Moshe had to end the collection. Moshe saw Betzalel and Ohaliav, the head craftsmen who, together with their volunteers, built and constructed the various utensils and structure of the Mishkan. He saw Aharon who was chosen by God to be the Kohen Gadol (High Priest) and he saw his nephews who had been chosen to serve alongside their illustrious father. Moshe saw all of this and grew despondent. What is my role? Where is my share in this holy work? Moshe felt left out, marginalized and unimportant. It was in this moment of despondence and sadness that God appeared to Moshe and told him, “You are vital to the people, you are the foundation of the entire nation, for you are the enabler of their growth.”

Where did this incredible national generosity come from? The people witnessed Moshe’s selflessness; they saw all he sacrificed for God and nation. The people said, “If Moshe could give up the trappings of a normal life and devote himself wholly to serve God, we can give of our gold, silver and jewels.” When Aharon was asked to assume the role of the High Priest he hesitated but quickly realized he had no choice. He knew he had to assume this mantle. “If Moshe has assumed so much responsibility, I must do my part as well.”

This is the meaning of the opening verse of this week’s Parsha. God is communicating an all-important message to His beloved servant.

“V’Ata, (and you Moshe)” – You must understand and appreciate how important you are.

 “V’Yikchu Eylecha Shemen Zayis Zach, (and have them bring you clear olive oil)” – Oil represents potential; it is the fuel capable of creating great illumination. Tell the people to come before you with their oil of potential.

 “L’Haalos Ner Tamid, (to light a lamp continually)” – Moshe, you are the flame; you are the one who ignites the oil of the people. You are the catalyst for their growth; you are the one who inspires them to be more and to actualize their potential.

 “V’Ata Hakrev Eylecha Es Aharon Achica V’es Banav, (and you, bring near to yourself Aaron your brother, and his sons with him…)” – Moshe, your brother is unsure of himself, build him up. Bring him close and inspire him. Whisper in his ear that you believe in him. Remind him, that if you can assume your responsibilities, he can assume his. Ignite his oil and allow him to find his greatness.

It is in these simple verses that God lifts Moshe from the depths of despondence and reminds him that enabling others to find their personal greatness is the true pinnacle of human accomplishment.

We often assume that the path to life-greatness is paved with personal accomplishments. That the metric of our success is how much we can each do, accrue and accomplish as an individual. But this is only partially true. We must grow, we must accomplish, and we must achieve. However, we must remember that a life solely devoted to personal self-actualization is incomplete. Life cannot be exclusively dedicated to one’s personal growth and achievement. We must all strive to be an enabler and facilitator of the growth of others. We must look to see what we can do to inspire and uplift those around us. Sometimes, a kind word, a compliment, a few minutes (or hours) of our time, a few words of inspiration can be what it takes to motivate our fellow Jew to move forward in his/her life journey. If we can find the strength to be attentive to the difficulties and struggles of the other, we can give them the strength to overcome their hurdles and become more.

With our family, our friends and our community, our job is to become Moshe Rabbeinu enablers of growth. We must each strive to be the flame that ignites the soulful, potential-rich oil of all those around us.

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Parsha Perspectives: Terumah-Mishkan and Menucha

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And they shall make Me a sanctuary and I will dwell in their midst (Exodus 25:8)

 The Mishkan (Tabernacle) was a national endeavor. It was not a project undertaken and underwritten solely by the wealthy, it was a result of the collective effort and generosity of the entire Jewish people. It was this inclusivity that allowed this structure to become the House of God. It was not the precious gold and silver, nor was it the incredible workmanship that made this Mishkan into the domicile of the Divine; it was the collective energy, it was the national cohesion created by undertaking this sacred task as one people with one heart which allowed the Divine to rest in this special place. The strength of our people is found in our unity. The strength of Am Yisroel is most present and pronounced when we look out for one another and find ways to build bonds and bridges of understanding and empathy.

This month of February is North American Inclusion Month (NAIM), a month where must take a step back and make sure that our communities are inclusive and embracing of all people with all types of challenges and differences. This month offers us the opportunity to create a Mishkan of inclusion and acceptance within our midst.

I would like to share with you a powerful experience I had just a few months ago. I was invited by Menucha (an incredible organization in Baltimore which is dedicated to helping children with special needs and their families) to be a scholar in residence for their annual Shabbaton. This Shabbos was for the parents and their special needs child. I was tasked with providing some Torah and inspiration for the Shabbaton attendees. There are some experiences which forever change your life and the way you see the world; this was one of them. I had the opportunity to meet these special children. And when I use the world “special” I am not using it as a euphemism for “challenged,” I mean truly special. I saw children who exuded the purest and holiest of love. I saw children who looked at the world and other people though a lens of unadulterated goodness and simcha. I met children who were limited physically and cognitively but possessed an unlimited capacity for warmth, care, empathy and the truest happiness I have ever seen. And I met their parents. These parents are a special breed. I saw for just a couple of hours the care, attention and love these parents provide. I saw a brand of fierce parental commitment that I have never witnessed beforehand. I love my own children very much, but there was something different here. There was a bond that I cannot explain, there was a connection that I cannot put into words. To the onlooker it may have looked as if it was a one-sided relationship: the parent giving and the child receiving. But it was clear that these parents felt the love emoted by their children and the unique and synergistic bond between parent and child grew stronger every moment. I felt that I was at a convention of the righteous. I met the volunteers, a group of young women and men from our community who display patience, compassion and empathy beyond their years. In a time when we struggle to keep our children engaged, I realized that we must push our youth to get more involved in chessed and helping others to cement their bond to our people and Torah.  I have never witnessed love, commitment and acceptance as I felt over that Shabbos. I thank Rabbi Aryeh Richter, Executive Director of Menucha for all his incredible work and for inviting me for Shabbos. I want to thank the children and parents of Menucha. I want to thank the parents for teaching me what it truly means to be a parent. Thank you for showing me what is truly means to love a child, not because of what you think they can or will accomplish but because of who they are. I want to thank the children of Menucha. Thank you for allowing me into your world of purity and holiness. Thank you for allowing me to bask in your simple and pure goodness. Thank you for wishing me “ah gut Shabbos” with such meaning and for your beautiful smiles that could light up the darkest of places. Thank you for making me part of your extended family for that one, magnificent Shabbos.  Thank you for allowing me to reside in your Mishkan. I came to inspire and had the privilege to leave truly inspired.

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